


Night Moves

by Salamandair



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cuddling, Drabble, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of Nightmares, Post Reichenbach tones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2013-08-25
Packaged: 2017-12-24 13:57:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/940785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salamandair/pseuds/Salamandair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every night, John went to bed alone. Sometimes, he woke up alone, just as he should. </p><p>But sometimes, he woke up with Sherlock curled up to his back, his arms wrapped around John’s waist to hold the other close to his chest in his half sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night Moves

**Author's Note:**

> I was having a rough night last night and instead of writing fluff, I wrote this little piece instead.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Characters belong to Arthur Conan Doyle and BBC.

It was an unspoken ritual that the two of them had.

Every night, John went to bed alone. Sometimes, he woke up alone, just as he should. But sometimes, he woke up with Sherlock curled up to his back, his arms wrapped around John’s waist to hold the other close to his chest in his half sleep. Sometimes, Sherlock didn’t even sleep, but merely had his eyes closed and relaxed in a meditative state, all the while still holding John close.

They never talked about it in the morning, never talked about what had transpired the night before. A brush through messy curls, a light smile, a gentle kiss to lips and soft words were exchanged before the two untangled themselves from the sheets and their limbs to start their day, with John making breakfast and Sherlock in the sitting room checking his website. Everything was as it should be.

It was only when the night came that things changed. Not when either of them went to bed, but whenever one of them would wake up in the middle of the night, in a cold sweat with sheets tangled around their waist and legs to constrict them. It wouldn’t be too much longer after one woke up, panting and with their body trembling, that the other would enter, quiet feet pattering against the hardwood floor. A body would slip in bed, arms would wrap around still trembling figures and try to conquer sleep once more.

Sometimes, it would be John who would wake up, sitting up straight in bed with a phantom pain in his shoulder and a shout tearing from his lips. Tears would quickly follow, purely out of reaction he claimed, and fists were made, twisting the sheet beneath them. That’s when Sherlock would enter, quiet as a church mouse. Lanky limbs would be quick to wrap an arm around John’s chest and draw the soldier to his chest, rubbing his back. John would only fall asleep when Sherlock spooned him, rubbing small circles into his pecs, right around where Sherlock knew his heart would be.

Sherlock was much quieter vocally with his nightmares. He was more physical, however, something that John was used to. He would thrash in bed, tossing and turning and shaking the bed. He’d be quick, but quiet, and would make it just in time to see Sherlock curled up at the headboard, fingers threaded through his hair and tugging on it as he breathed heavily. John would crawl next to him and hug Sherlock from behind and listen as Sherlock muttered about gun shots and drowning and rooftops and “God, I’m so sorry, John! Please, Please.” John would simply rub circles into Sherlock’s back and gradually lay the other down until Sherlock fell asleep curled into John, clinging to him like a child would cling to his blanket.

During the day, they showed no other signs of affection towards each other. Simple touches, a brush of lips to fingers that covered a temple, lingering gazes at crime scenes behind the backs of stupid Forensic Techs and suspecting DIs. But at night is when they thrived. At night is when they held each other tight, gave more loving kisses, and fell asleep feeling the other’s pulse under their ears.

Maybe they’d address it one day, John thought. Maybe they’d talk about when they crossed the line from comforting each other to being lovers. Maybe they hadn’t crossed that line at all and he was simply being disillusioned. Whatever the case was, John was perfectly content listening to Sherlock’s gentle words flow into his fear filled mind at night and he was content telling Sherlock that it was okay, that he wouldn’t let the other fall without John right behind him ever again.


End file.
